By Raizy Rubin
On the Shabbat of Chanukah we went to my parents. It was the first time for our whole family to stay there for a Shabbat in maybe a year. This past year they visited us several times, and we have been in to visit them, but it hasn’t been as a family and not for a Shabbat. They prepared a feast, we had a wonderful time, and my father shared many memorable and meaningful stories. Including this personal Chanukah story:
Once in his teen years back in Russia he received an army draft notice. His father, my grandfather Shimon, was adamant that his son not go to the army, because he was especially worried about maintaining Jewish observance in that controlled environment. It was hard enough to live Jewishly under Communism but in the the army it was virtually impossible. They worried and fretted and contacted connections. Turns out there was a Jewish Russian army Major who they knew, and he offered to help them arrange the paperwork necessary for an exemption. They must have rewarded him greatly for his trouble, especially since he was risking his position and life for doing this.
To get this paperwork, my father had to stay for two weeks in a sealed off facility surrounded by a very tall fence topped with barbed wire, under strict constant supervision with guards by the entrance. The Major was quite understanding and arranged for my father to have several minutes of private time to put on Tefillin each morning, and also allowed for food to be sent from home. These were extraordinary exceptions, and it allowed my father to keep these Mitzvot even in such a situation.
Then Chanukah began. My father was very eager to light the Menorah, but the Major said he could not agree to allow fire burning openly. The Tefillin, Kosher and Shabbos were already exception enough, but he would never allow a lit Menorah on premise . My grandparents understood this, but my father did not want to give in. He was stubborn, eager, and upset. When they came to visit to bring him the food, he insisted that he try to slip out, get onto a bus, just to light the Menorah for a short while and come back. My grandparents worried that this would jeopardize the effort of securing exemption paperwork. They decided they would ask the local Rov, R’ Zalman Pewsner (Buber) who was also his mentor, and go by his ruling.
R’ Zalman Buber mulled it over and said, “Nu, I can not make a decision for him, he is keeping Kosher, wearing Tefillin, not mchalel Shabbos … but unable to light the Chanukah candles? Nu. I just can say if he goes through with this process, hopefully he will be able to light Chanukah candles for many years to come.”
So my father didn’t light the candles that year, it hurt him immensely but did get his exemption paperwork. Most years as a child and teen he lit Hanukkah menorah on hollowed out potatoes filled with oil. Later his father arranged for a factory worker to make a Menorah out of metal cups, but my father never ended up taking it out of Russia, he left it behind as a gift for another young Jew.
When I was a young girl my mother took us to visit our paternal grandmother, Bubbe Bluma (for whom our Bluma is named) in Kiryat Malachi in Israel. My father was unable to travel at that time. One of my memories was that my mother went shopping around for a large, beautiful silver Menorah as a gift to bring back to my father. Finally she found one that she loved and bought it and brought it back to America.
I always knew that my father got a little emotional lighting the Chanukah candles, but this time by the Shabbos table when he was asked to share something about his father, he explained why. He always felt that he missed lighting that year in his teens, and most of his lighting in his youth was on ordinary hollowed-out potatoes. Being able to light year after year on a grand silver Menorah helped him overcome that “lack” from his youth, and realize Rabbi Zalman Buber’s promise, “Nu, he will light the candles for many years to come!”
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One night this Chanukah a girl came in to light Menorah at Shabbos House. I noticed her eagerness to light the candles, realized her seriousness about the Mitzvah, and saw her eyes mist over as she made the blessing. I asked her about it and she said that last year she was studying abroad in a distant country with no fellow Jews around. She wasn’t able to light last year and she missed it, which is why this year she is so eager to light, it means so much more to her.
So I shared with her my father’s story that I heard for the first time this past weekend. And now I share both stories with you. May we appreciate the blessings and opportunities we have without having to miss them in order to best appreciate them.